Mr Yin and Mr Yang and Shawn and Gus
by KNO3
Summary: The Yin-Yang Killer returns for an encore, and Santa Barbara's favorite police psychic must stop the killings and figure out who is behind the spree. Set somewhere early in season six. Reviews greatly appreciated!
1. At the Sign of the Laughing Seagull

The sky was crystal blue over the Santa Barbara beach, with a few trailing wisps of cloud over the ocean. Near the beachfront, the breakers rolled in to splash and wash the damp sand; a few discarded beach toys rolled over and over, tumbling a few feet closer to the sea with each receding wave. Overhead, the ever-present seagulls wheeling and crying mixed with the quiet rush of the ocean. In the summer, there would be more sounds: children laughing and fighting in the shallows, the latest rock or indie music blaring from boomboxes near the seawall, easy banter between the habitual sunbathers as they struck up new flirtations. But now, in the early weeks of February, the beach was almost empty.

A few diehard sunbathers shivered in the windy brightness near the boardwalk; farther down the beach, a straggling band of beach bums searched for seashells, frequented the Fun Sun Ice Stand, and flirted desperately with any females they encountered. On the boardwalk, a couple struggled to kiss against the wind while several women watched for birds and wildlife in the fenced-off dune preserves.

"Okay, tell me honestly." Shawn Spencer adjusted his glasses and took a big lick of his pina colada ice before turning to his companion. "Is this not the most awesome, not to manage best, place to relax at? Especially when you have several uptight Santa Barbara detectives getting on your case, literally?"

Gus gave his friend a look. He should be used to this by now; Shawn's crazy shenanigans were well-known at the police station, Central Coast Pharmaceuticals, and, thanks to Telemundo and YouTube, the greater Santa Barbara area. And as shenanigans went, walking barefoot down the deserted beachfront was fairly low.

"Look, Shawn, it's not that I don't like this and all," Gus said, motioning at the empty beachfront. "But seriously? You called me away from the office to-"

"To take a walk on the beach with me," Shawn interrupted. "That's right, Gus. To walk down an empty beach with no shoes on, listening to the cool clear sounds of nature and breathing in the... fresh, clean, ocean air. If you can look me in the eye and tell me you'd rather be locked in Dilbert's cubicle, slaving away at a hot computer..."

"The fresh ocean air smells like fish," Gus put in. "And marijuana, from those homeless guys by the piers. I can't keep skipping work like this, Shawn. Unlike you, some of us have a _job _with _deadlines_."

"And overworked employees and hot receptionists and hilariously inefficient office managers," Shawn said. "I know, I've seen it." He lifted his waxed paper cone and sucked in a big mouthful of flavored ice slush.

"That wasn't my office, that was on NBC," said Gus. "I'm just saying, you need to give me at least two hours' notice before you call me out and- are you even listening to me?"

"Not really," Shawn admitted. "Hey, isn't that shop new?"

"What?" Gus tried to follow his friend's eyes, not an easy task when said eyes were concealed behind dark sunglasses. Just beyond the main entrance and car ramp, a line of chintzy, touristy souvenir shops crowned the seawall. "Are you talking about the beach shops?"

"Pfff, yes. Look at that one in the middle, the one with the seagull. I swear, Gus, it wasn't here last time."

"Are we talking about the one with the giant seagull windcatcher, the found art seagull statue, or the painted pressboard seagull that looks like it got doused with Smilex?" Gus asked. "Be specific, Shawn."

"The one with the laughing seagull. C'mon, Gus, let's go check it out." Shawn downed the last of his ice cone and headed down the beach towards the shops.

"What- you can't go in there! Shawn, it's a tourist trap," said Gus, hurrying to catch up with his friend. "You want to know what's in there, I'll tell you. There will be a bunch of dead starfish, some shells painted in China, and a bunch of overpriced T-shirts with creepy laughing seagulls."

Shawn stopped, lifting a hand to his head.

"Ope- oh my God, Gus, no. I'm getting a vision."

Gus sighed and rolled his eyes.

"You are not," he argued. "Don't try that B.S. on me, Shawn."

"Oh- yes- yes, I am. I see a beautiful woman inside that shop, alone, sad, probably scantily clad-"

"Shawn, I am not falling for this."

"-and she's waiting for you," Shawn finished.

Gus raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"For me?"

"That's right. Oh- and she's got arms like Zoe Saldana," said Shawn.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Gus said, turning back towards the shop. "Let's go check it out."

Behind him, Shawn started laughing, but Gus chose to ignore it. Just outside the touristy shop's gaudy sign, he stopped to brush off his feet and slip his shoes and socks back on.

"Dress shoes, on a beach? Really?" Shawn said. "Oh look, gumballs!"

Gus ran a hand over his hair, mentally shaking his head as Shawn moved over to the gumball machine and began shaking it with the careful skill of a practiced gumball thief.

"These are the best," Shawn said over his shoulder. "Dubble Bubble, twelve different flavors. And I've seen this model before; if you shake it just right you can..."

Gus put a hand on his friend's shoulder and silently handed him a quarter. Shawn took it without looking up or pausing in his babble.

"Okay, I'm going in to look around," said Gus. "You meet me when you're done getting your gumball, singular. No stealing."

Shawn sighed and shook his head.

"Gus, man, where is your sense of adventure? Of lovable roguery? This is me, Shawn, the poor, underpaid psychic detective, taking advantage of a poorly constructed candy dispenser made by a large and soulless gumball corporation."

"Don't steal, Shawn," Gus warned him, just before ducking inside the shop.

Shawn shook his head, mouthed the words 'party pooper,' and turned back to the machine. He had retrieved one blue raspberry gumball with the quarter and was carefully tipping the machine in hopes of loosing a green apple when Gus came flying out of the shop and nearly slammed into him from behind.

"Gus, what is with you?" Shawn said. "Can't you see I am-"

"Shawn," Gus panted, his eyes about the size of silver dollars, "you're not going to believe this. Guess who was in there."

Shawn shrugged.

"I don't know, Zoe Saldana and Chris Pine?"

"No! This is serious, Shawn. It's Mr. Yang."


	2. Oops, My Bad

"Mr. Yang? Gus, that's impossible," said Shawn. "Mr. Yang's in prison- I mean, the institution. Maybe it was someone who just looked like her- you know, a Yang look-alike. It's not that improbable. I know you can hire a Dolly Parton body double, a George W. Bush impersonator, _and _a movie-perfect Joker come to your party. The, uh, Dark Knight Joker, not the Tim Burton one."

"Shawn, I'm telling you, it was her," Gus said emphatically. "She was working the front register, wearing that ridiculous pink dress, and she smiled right at me and said 'Hey, Gus, nice to see you again.' And I don't know any stupid serial killer impersonators."

"Oh, wow," said Shawn. "You know what that means?"

"Yes," Gus said. "It means we call Lassiter right now to come get her before she runs out the back."

"No, Gus. It means my vision was spot on," said Shawn. "Spot. On. Though you're right, we probably should call Lassie."

He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his green Psych cell phone.

"Now you're being reasonable," said Gus, glancing over his shoulder. "Look, Shawn, you think maybe one of us should head around back, just in case?"

"Absolutely not," said Shawn. "It's the classic horror movie set up. The heroes separate, head back towards a sleazy, badly painted Dumpster, and ckkkkk—" he drew his finger across his throat before turning away to speak into the phone. "Hello, Santa Barbara PD? Oh, it's you, Jules. Yeah, you're not going to believe this, but we just saw Mr. Yang. Yeah, we're sure. Uh, we're down on the public beach, just outside the Happy Seagull Souvenir Shop. Not a vision, Gus actually saw her! Yes, right away. Great." Flipping the phone shut, he turned back to Gus. "Not to mention the black guy always dies first."

Gus opened his mouth to reply with some sort of snarky repartee on how Shawn was being racist, but his brilliant comment was drowned out by the joint wailing of police sirens as four of Santa Barbara's finest pulled into the sandy parking lot. Almost before the lead car stopped, its door opened and Detective Carlton Lassiter tumbled out of the driver's side.

"Alright, Spencer, this had better not be one of your false alarms," he said warningly.

"It isn't," Gus said, stepping in front of his friend. "I saw her with my own two eyes. Mr. Yang's in there, front register."

Lassiter turned and began yelling orders at the police officers piling out of their cars.

"All right, people, let's move! I want Hartman, Brynns, and McNab to set up a perimeter, ready to shoot if she runs. O'Hara, you're with me. Jones! Allen! Cover the back entrance! Let's go!"

Shawn thumped Gus's arm.

"See? What'd I tell you?" he said.

"Shut up, Shawn," Gus snapped. "I just want to see Mr. Yang behind bars for good."

* * *

><p>"Congratulations, Mr. Spencer," snapped Chief Karen Vick, sliding a beige manila folder across her desk towards Shawn and Gus. "You just made the Santa Barbara police force look like idiots."<p>

"Again," Lassiter put in, smugly leaning against the doorframe. "Chief, as I've told you before—"

"Oh, put a sock in it, Lassie," Shawn interrupted. "And look, Chief, how were we supposed to know she was allowed to be there? Lassie didn't know it either, judging by the way he stormed down there and kicked in the door—"

"I did not kick the door in, I kneed it in," Lassiter said, "per standard protocol for a building currently sheltering crimi-"

"Detective Lassiter, Mr. Spencer, I will thank you both to stand down!" Vick snapped. "It was a work-release program; apparently, Ms. Rotmensen's psychiatrist thinks it would help her to hold a position and get some outside exposure, help her acclimate to life outside an institution. The hospital informed me of this transition over a week ago, and if either of you had bothered to check the attachment on the weekly update email, you would have both known about this."

Shawn looked down, pursing his lips. Oops.

"But why here?" Lassiter demanded. "Why in Santa Barbara, for God's sake? They have to know about Yang's—delusional—fixation with—" he motioned towards Shawn.

"I agree with Lassiter," said Gus. "There's plenty of other places to work outside Santa Barbara. Like Siberia, or Timbuktu."

"Sick, demented, disgusting fixation," Lassiter said, half under his breath.

Karen Vick sighed and placed a hand on her forehead.

"Gentlemen," she said. "Part of the institution's work-release program specifies that a trustee patient may not hold a job less than twenty-five miles from the institution. The Happy Seagull was selected for its remote location within that perimeter. Now, of course, Ms. Rotmensen will have to be relocated to a new workplace."

"Oh, great, you're putting her somewhere else?" Gus said. "I can't wait to walk into my favorite coffee bar and realize there's a serial killer serving me my peppermint mocha."

"Dude, I didn't know you liked peppermint mochas," said Shawn. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Can we stay focused here?" Lassiter snapped. "I never thought I'd say this, but I agree with the psychic. You need to call the institution and tell them to make an exception. Place Yang—I mean, Ms. Rotmensen—somewhere out of this city. Far away from this city."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Vick said coolly. "Perhaps you missed it before, but I made an agreement with the institution. The papers are already signed. I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do."

"Well, I thought that went well," Shawn announced, as he and Gus headed down the front steps of the police department towards Gus's waiting car. "But we really need to talk. Why didn't you tell me you liked peppermint mochas? All these years, and I never suspected—"

"Cut it out, Shawn," Gus said. He stopped at the blue car and quickly scanned the street. Someone had parallel parked a black Jeep in a no-parking zone—a killer, abandoning the car as a clue? Just then, a red-headed teenager bounced out of the nearby boutique and into the Jeep. Nope. A blue-clad meter maid was ticketing a red Corvette, her face hidden by a navy baseball cap. They wouldn't put her to work for the city, would they? That would be stupid. He shook his head and kept looking. Further down the street, a man in a sharp brown suit was touching every parking meter he passed while talking to a woman with dark, curly hair. Could that be Yang?

"…plus you talked Lassiter around, which is, I have to say, an enormous feat of sheer loquacity and smooth-tonguedness," Shawn was saying. "Hey, what are you looking at? I'm the one who's not supposed to pay attention. You're stealing my gig."

"Nothing," Gus said quickly. "Get in the car."

Shawn shook his head and made a tsk-tsk sound as he ducked into the passenger's seat.

"I'm getting a psychic reading here," he said. "You're worried about—oh, oh, almost, I can almost see it—you're worried about Yang."

"And you're not?" Gus said. "Put your seatbelt on."

"Right, I forgot I'm riding with Captain Responsible," said Shawn, reaching for the belt. "And that's why you don't have to worry, Gus. You're way, way too responsible to do anything dumb, except maybe go behind a restaurant by yourself when there's a serial killer inside or forget to check the expiration date on the milk carton. I bet you check both side windows before you back up, don't you?"

"And the back," Gus said, checking his side mirrors and the back.

"Exactly! You're _safe_, Gus. And if Yang comes after anyone, it's not going to be you," said Shawn. "It's going to be me."

"That's why I'm worried," Gus muttered, and pulled out into the street.

* * *

><p>Remember, to err is human, to review divine!<p> 


	3. A Sad, Sad Ending for Mr Dubble Bubble

"Good morning, good _morning, _we talked the whole night through, good morning, good morning to you," Shawn sang under his breath. He sauntered up the main walk to the Psych office, still singing. "Good morning, good morning to you." At the door, Shawn stopped and pulled out a jingling ring of keys. "Good morning, good morning, it's great to stay up late, good morning, good morning—"

"Good morning, Shawn," Gus said, blocking the doorway and giving his friend one of his best no-nonsense looks. "You're late."

"Good morning to you too, Cosmo," Shawn smiled. "Nice to see you up so early."

"It's almost ten o'clock. Exactly what did you think I meant when I said 'meet me here first thing in the morning?'"

Shawn frowned a little, squinting one eye as if thinking.

"Uh, 'meet me here first thing in the morning, after you stop by Coffee 2 Go for a deliciously moist chocolate cake ball and a peppermint mocha?'"

Gus blinked angrily.

"Peppermint mocha? Why didn't you bring me a peppermint mocha?" he said.

"I-I'm sorry, I really would have," said Shawn, slouching into the desk chair, "I was just in a huge rush to get over here. So! What's the big announcement, Guster?"

"The big announcement is, we need to have a talk," said Gus. He crossed the room, folded his arms across his chest, and looked Shawn in the eyes. "This is the ninth time in two months you've pulled me out of my job, out of my office, to do something—random."

"Oh yeah? Like walk down a beach? And who did we find on the beach, huh, Gus?" Shawn asked. He grabbed a sheet of paper from the desk and crumpled it into a ball.

"We found a whole lot of trouble, and that's part of why I called you here, Shawn," Gus said grimly. "This just isn't working, you showing up at my office or calling me in the middle of the day. Not just because it's annoying—" a paper ball bounced off his shoulder—"it's dangerous. You get in trouble, you call my phone, I think it's just another 'oh, Gus, let's go play Karate Kid in the junkyard' call, and then what happens? It's like the boy who cried wolf."

"You know," said Shawn, sitting up slightly, "I think you have an excellent point."

"What!"

"Yeah," Shawn said. "So you just need to make sure you answer all the time, and come down as fast as you can every single—"

Shawn was cut off by the electronic dingle of his cell phone. He raised one finger, pulled out his phone, and answered it.

"Yello. Oh, hi Jules. What? Oh my God." Shawn swung his legs off the desk and sat up quickly. "Where are you? Okay, yeah, we'll be right down." He flipped the phone shut and turned to Gus. "She's at the Happy Seagull. They just found a body."

* * *

><p>Police cameras flashed on every side as Detective Juliet O'Hara led Shawn and Gus through the Happy Seagull crime scene and souvenir shop. Just as Shawn had predicted, the tiny shop was crammed with overpriced, cheaply made souvenirs. A net of pseudo-Japanese glass floats hung from a metal bookshelf, which was filled with shoeboxes of various seashells and small stuffed sea creatures. Three unsteady racks of paper-thin, shoddily-hemmed T-shirts leaned precariously against the bookshelf, disturbingly happy seagulls grinning off every airbrushed shirt.<p>

"We don't think the killer touched anything," Jules said, squeezing past a glass display of painted conch shells and wave-polished glass. "We already had the shop owner in here and he's fairly certain that nothing's been taken."

"Who's the victim?" Gus asked. "The other cashier?"

"No, actually," said Jules. "Max Lynn, a homeless drifter. He'd been run in a few times for trespassing, loitering with intent, and minor drug infractions. No ties to anyone or anything... until he ended up here." She motioned to the white police tape outline. "We took the body out already- he'd been stabbed twice. The owner found him in front of the register. At first, he thought it was a robbery gone wrong."

"But then we found this in the victim's shirt," said Lassiter, turning to meet the group. He held out a plastic evidence bag with a small, cheap pin. "The yin-yang symbol. The owner, a Mr. Juan Alvarez, says he keeps them in stock to go with the Japanese balls."

Shawn stifled a snicker.

"And just in case we didn't get the clue, the killer left us a Sharpie drawing on the front counter," Jules said. "Look."

Setting down a hand-painted, Taiwan-imported conch necklace, Shawn crowded around Gus and stared at the front counter. Multiple strips of peeling masking tape held various handwritten signs in place: HABLAMOS ESPANOL, NO SHOE NO SHIRT NO SERVICE, WE DO NOT ACCEPT RETURNS NO EXCEPTION. In the center of the counter, someone had drawn a large, permanent yin-yang symbol in purple ink, with a green and blue gumball for the dots. Shawn quickly scanned the counter with his eyes. There were several credit card receipts stuck under a wire cup of pens, most of them white or blue with local business logos on the side. Just under the register drawer, however, someone had jammed a violet pen cap.

Shawn froze, one hand going to his head.

"Okay, wait, I'm getting something," he announced. "The killer did take something with her. I'm—I'm getting a pen, a purple pen. Yes, I see it clearly. There was a purple pen here, a cheap BIC-type purple pen. She broke it, drizzled the ink on the counter like very thin frosting on a large and inedible cookie, and took it away with her."

"Oh, wow," Lassiter snapped. "That is incredibly useful. You didn't happen to see where she dumped this broken pen, did you?"

Jules gave her partner a look.

"Thank you, Shawn," she said quietly. "So you're sure the killer is a she?"

Shawn pursed his lips, glanced back at the symbol once more, and nodded his head.

"Pretty darned," he said.

McNabb stepped into the tiny shop through the back door. He would have come all the way in, but due to the cramped interior and the number of people already inside the Happy Seagull, he found himself stuck at the threshold.

"We found footsteps back here," he reported. "Looks like women's boots."

"Stilettos?" Shawn asked. "Because that would be totally awesome if she ran off in stilettos. Those things are crazy hard to walk in, and we'd probably find her with three or four blisters on her pinky toes. Trust me, I know."

Lassiter gave Shawn an odd look and turned to McNabb.

"So you think she came in from the back?" he asked.

"No, stop," Shawn burst out, before McNabb could get a word out. "She came in the front. Probably stopped to grab some gumballs from the Dubble Bubble machine outside."

Jules frowned, blinking a little confusedly.

"What Dubble Bubble machine?"

* * *

><p>"It was right here," Shawn insisted, looking to his left and his right. "I swear. I left it right where it was—look, you can even see the sand imprint where it…" he stopped and leaned over. "Well, there it is. Dopey me! She just tipped it over off the seawall."<p>

Four feet away and six feet down, the ill-fated gumball dispenser lay facedown in the white sand.

"Good luck getting any gumballs from that," Shawn said. "They installed the 2008-issue safety catch."

Detective Lassiter gave a snort of disgust and hurried down the concrete steps to the beach. Shawn, meanwhile, jumped over the railing and landed just in front of him with a half-smile.

"Out of the way, Spencer," snapped Lassiter. "We need to check that for fingerprints."

"Not before I check it for psychic vibes," Shawn said. He knelt on the sand next to the machine and spread out his hands, holding them inches about the glass globe. "Don't worry, Lassie, I won't touch. Just… feel. Hmmmmmmm…"

"What are you doing, Shawn?" Gus asked, landing suddenly next to his friend. "Don't you want to come see the body?"

"As tempting as that sounds, no, I'd prefer to look for clues," replied Shawn, with his eyes closed. "Or in this case feel for clues. Hmmmmm… nope, sorry, I'm not getting anything." He jumped up, dusting off his jeans, as Lassiter pushed by him with a withering glance. "But, come on, it's pretty obvious who did this. You don't have to be psychic to realize that somebody's been a naughty, naughty girl. And by someone, I mean Mr. Yang, and by naughty I mean murderous and not- the other kind of naughty."

"The dead guy," said Gus, "is that homeless guy you gave the phrenology reading on the beach."

Shawn looked up sharply.

"Maxie? My man Maxie?" he said.

"Yes, Shawn. I checked his pocket; he still has the Big Billie's Burger BBQ half-off coupon you gave him."

"Oh," said Shawn. He got up, his face carefully expressionless. "I see. So we're back to the murdering-everyone-I-talk-to stage."

"Shawn..." Gus put a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"This is terrible!" Shawn said, shrugging Gus' hand off quickly. "We're not going to be able to go out to eat for weeks, Gus, don't you understand that? Or maybe Lassie can fetch us some Chinese take-out. Just don't look at the girl behind the counter and don't order any meat you can't identify. Wait, Gus, what about that place on Fourteenth- is it safe?"

Gus shrugged.

"Use your best judgment on the meat, then. _Don't forget the fortune cookies!"_

Ignoring a glare from Lassiter, Shawn stepped around the gumball machine and headed down the beach.


	4. Yang Gets Visitors

"You have got to be kidding me," Carlton Lassiter snapped.

"I-I'm with Lassie," Shawn said. "Yang's metaphorical and psychic fingerprints were all over that shop; she had to be the killer."

Chief Karen Vick tightened her jaw and crossed her arms.

"I'm sorry, Shawn, but it's just not possible," she said coolly. "Ms. Rotmensen returns to the institution straight from her work, and worked under constant surveillance while at the Happy Seagull. Furthermore, after the—unfortunate—incident—with you and Gus, she had a psychotic episode and was placed under observation for two days."

"The coroner confirmed that Max Lynn was killed during those two days?" Juliet asked. "She couldn't have—I don't know—kept the body on ice or something?"

Vick sighed and shook her head.

"No. He was definitely fresh. Furthermore, as Detective Lassiter pointed out, there was no blood trail on the shop floor and significant pooling under the corpse, which seems to indicate Lynn was stabbed in the shop," she said.

Gus bumped Shawn's arm with his elbow.

"Told you you should have looked at the body," he whispered.

"Gus, please, hush," said Shawn. Turning back to Chief Vick, he asked, "So Yang's alibi is solid?"

"She was under observation at the time, we have the surveillance tapes and the words of two eminent psychiatrists," Vick said. "I think that's about as solid as it gets." Nobody said anything. "Well, if that's all, I believe I have several reports to file."

Taking the hint, the four detectives exited Vick's office with varying degrees of reluctance.

"Great, Shawn," Gus said. "This is like one of the locked room mysteries, with a killer and a dead guy and no way he could have done it but you KNOW he did it anyway. And you know how those end up. The detective always ends up with the killer in the same room and taunts her into trying to-" his hand shot up and locked onto Shawn's wrist. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"Gus, don't be a half-pint of cherry berry soda pop," said Shawn. "Help me catch Jules. I need to talk to her when Lassie's not looking over our shoulders."

"What? Why? What are you going to do? Are you gonna ask her out to dinner again? Shawn! Listen to me!" Gus whispered fiercely. "This isn't a game you big-"

"Nothing so brassy as that. I want you to- oh, hey, Jules! We were just talking about you!"

"I know, Shawn," Juliet said. "You're right behind me. I could hear everything you said."

"Oh, fantastic! Look, we were just going to ask you... that is, I was going to ask you..." Shawn fumbled.

"Is this a date, Shawn?" Jules raised an eyebrow. "Because I think the words you're looking for are 'lunch,' 'Vitti's,' and 'with me.'"

"Okay. Stop. Let me try again. Juliet, would you mind coming _with me_ after _lunch_ to go visit Mr. Yang?" Shawn said. "Sorry, I just couldn't get Vitti's in there. Maybe we could get carryout. Their breadsticks are- oh, my God. It's like eating melted gold. Minus the intense mouth burns and fatal intestinal poisoning."

"Shawn!" Gus exclaimed. "You can't go down there- are you insane? Too?"

"No, wait, Gus," Jules interrupted. Her eyes met Shawn's, and she cocked her head slightly to one side. "I understand why you want to interrogate Mr. Yang, but why bring me along?"

"So Yang will stop hitting on me," Shawn said. "No, seriously, Jules. It's really really annoying-"

"We have no idea what that feels like," Lassiter put in, deadpan. "No, wait! Actually, we do."

"-and I need someone to throw her off her game," finished Shawn. "You know. Get her... not focused on me. So I can read her psychic aura and-"

"Wait, you want Yang to focus on Jules?" Gus put in. "That is the worst idea you have ever had! Except for that one noodle incident."

"Which noodle incident? The one with the Ramen, or the one with the panda?" Shawn asked. "Because the one with the Ramen was totally your fault, dude."

"Shawn, that sign clearly said-"

"I'll do it," Juliet interrupted.

"You will?" said Shawn.

"You _will?" _echoed Gus.

"You will?" Lassiter finished. "Seriously?"

"We needed an interview with the prime suspect anyway," Juliet said, looking at Lassiter. "And I already know Yang won't grant an interview unless Shawn is present."

"True," muttered Lassie. "So we can, what, have him sitting bound and gagged in a corner while we interrogate the perp?

"Not exactly," Juliet said.

* * *

><p>The room was white, all white, with a grey table and grey chairs. Boring. Shawn shifted uncomfortably in his white jumpsuit. Beside him, Gus was struggling with the high zip collar, which had jammed just under his chin.<p>

"Know who you look like?" Shawn said.

"Ming the Merciless," Juliet said, from the other side of Shawn. "Here, Gus. Let me help." She leaned forward and tugged on the zipper, coaxing it free and then pulling it all the way up.

"Jules, that was amazing," Shawn said.

Juliet shrugged.

"It's just simple mechanics, Shawn."

"No, I mean-" Shawn broke off midsentence. On the other side of the Plexiglas wall, a door had just opened. All three of the investigators fell silent as the bright-eyed, curly-haired, perpetually cheerful woman known as Mr. Yang was escorted through the door, flanked by two women in white. Her hands were handcuffed, but she she waved happily, her face stretched in a gleeful smile.

"Shawn! Oh, _God, _how I've missed you." Mr. Yang allowed herself to be seated and waited for the orderlies to snap the restraint link on her handcuffs. She looked up brightly, tossing a stray strand of dark hair out of her face. "So. How's your mommy doing?"

Shawn shut his eyes briefly.

"Look, Yang, we need to talk-"

Yang's smile reappeared, and she almost clapped her hands.

"Ooh! Yay! I love it when you talk like that. Is it... is it about our _relationship? _Be honest, Shawnie: am I too distant? Too... abstracted? Never there when you _need me?"_

"We're investigating a homicide case," Juliet interrupted, dropping a thick manila folder onto the countertop with a distinct _tock. _"Max Lynn. The Happy Seagull. Ring any bells?"

Yang frowned, squinting at the manila folder.

"You know," she said, "you _know..." _her eyes narrowed and her words trailed off into silence. Abruptly, her eyes snapped up and focused on Juliet's. "I've heard about you, Juliet O'Hara. I've heard about, about the little _hanky-panky _with Shawn. My Shawn." She tossed her head, her eyes still locked on Juliet. "I don't think I like you."

"Whoa, whoa, that's enough," Shawn interposed, leaning forward and as in-front-of Juliet as he could. He cracked a smile, nervously, and elbowed Gus to move forward. "Yang, let's not get our trousers in a bunch- metaphorically speaking- because I'm not actually sure they let you wear trousers, or that you would want to wear them- which it's fine if you do, I totally understand-"

Yang laughed, and the tension in the room relaxed.

"Oh," she sighed, leaning her head against the Plexiglas. "Oh, oh. That's what I love about you, Shawn. Your sense of humor... dramatic timing. That's why I left you the clock, you know. _I _play by the rules. But Yin, Yin won't do anything like that. You should know... it's all chaos there."

"Yin?" Gus whispered. "What-"

"No good, Yin's dead," Shawn said, to Mr. Yang. "What else you got?"

Again, Mr. Yang laughed- and suddenly, looking up, went serious-bordering-on-angry.

"You kissed her, didn't you Shawn?" she snapped. "Admit it, you kissed her and you liked it. I can see it right there on your face- I can SEE IT- YOU CHEATING BASTARD-" Yang's sentence dissolved into a fragmented tirade of curses and shrieks as the two orderlies rushed back into the room and began struggling with her.

Shawn sighed and leaned back in his chair, disappointed. He shook his head, glanced at Jules, and shook it again.

"Not good enough," he said.

* * *

><p>In the hallway, Juliet hurried to catch up with Shawn, her white jumpsuit slung over her shoulder.<p>

"What do you mean, not good enough?" she said. "Shawn, what's going on?"

"I'll tell you what's going on," Gus said, appearing at her elbow and struggling with the zipper on his own jumpsuit. "The crazy lady just got jealous of you, Juliet. I'd start locking my door if I were you, before she decides to sew a nice dress out of your skin."

"I think I can handle myself, thanks," Juliet replied. "Shawn, come on. Tell me what you got."

Shawn shook his head- and stopped. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something brown and white sticking out of the doctor's office. Without stopping his stride or turning his head, he focused in on the clipboard. It was a guest login chart; SPENCER, SHAWN was penciled in the chart's slot, next to ROTMENSEN, D. and the date. "Rotmensen, D." appeared two other times on the chart- two slots above his visit record, and near the top. Shawn stopped and put a hand to his head.

"Whoa. Gus. Oh. Whoa. Major psychic vision here." Shawn closed his eyes. "Yang's telling the truth. She didn't kill Max Lynn, at least not personally."

"So what, she had help?" Gus asked.

"Maybe," Shawn said, still not opening his eyes. "No, no, I'm sensing something different. I'm sensing..." He opened his eyes. "Wait a minute. Where's Lassiter?"

* * *

><p>Lassiter's burgundy station wagon was still idling in the guest parking spot as Shawn, Gus, and Juliet bounded out to it. Right away, they could tell something was wrong. Lassiter was still visible in the driver's seat, but he had slumped backwards, his head resting peacefully on the back of the seat.<p>

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!" Juliet cried, reaching the car in a burst of speed and-

"Don't touch that handle!" Shawn yelled. Juliet jumped and pulled her hand away from the door handle. "Gus, check for wires. You remember what happened... last time..." he trailed off. Gus and Juliet both bent over the door handles, their eyes frantically scanning the interior of the car. Almost as one, they straightened up.

"Clean!" Gus reported.

"Same here. I'm opening the door!" Juliet said. She grabbed the door and pulled it open.

Nothing happened.

"Is he okay?" Shawn asked, walking around the front of the car. "Is he-" he stopped and coughed. "Fumes... built up pretty strong..."

"He's fine," Juliet said, with a sigh of relief. She reached and yanked the keys from the ignition. "And I think that was Yang's plan. Knock him out, put in the car, keep the engine running... it's a good thing we got out here as soon as we did."

"See, Shawn? See?" Gus broke in. "I'm telling you, this case is way too dangerous!"

Shawn was about to answer, but he noticed something under Lassiter's feet. He paused, leaned down, and pulled out an oversize yellow manila envelope. All three of them stopped. The trademark yin/yang sticker with the red squiggle down the middle was plainly visible on the envelope.


End file.
